A Father To Us All

The tree whose shade we gladly take
  or lean our backs against;
  the sympathy we knows is there,
  expressed, or sometimes, sensed

The horror in the days and nights
  that’s soothed by simple words;
  the low parts in the harmony,
  the missing fifths and thirds

Just children in our happenstance,
  simulacrums of fate —
  a father to us all, be we
  the early shoots, or late —

The sounds of work in the garage,
  the quiet voice at meals;
  the world is daily changed by those
  who change the way it feels

We may outgrow our innocence,
  the early flowers fade,
  but while there still is sun, we all
  could use a little shade

The ghost is in the house today,
  the tremor in the hall —
  and love finds home among the poor,
  a father
  to us

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